


Decompress

by KnightOfWren



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfWren/pseuds/KnightOfWren
Summary: Seifer finds Squall during Time Compression. Death has complications.





	

It was a place of unmaking. Deadness stretched in all directions, sucking the life from anyone and everything unlucky enough to walk into the place, unwittingly or otherwise. The nothing above, twisting and slipping in and out, was enough to drive anyone crazy by itself without even touching on the dusty, barren expanse that passed as a ground, endless and void, and always _forever never escape this place_ awful.

And there, lying in the middle of fucking all, like he was asleep or maybe passed out after a rough night on the town, was Squall fucking Leonhart.

Seifer could have just left him there. He considered it, staring down at Squall’s exhaustion-pale face, bleached whiter than usual by stress and magic and near death experiences and fucking Time Compression. He could have left him there to die, just kept walking until he found some way home by himself. It would have served Leonhart fucking right for being such a dick, to spend the rest of his life alone in this place. Seifer found a sneer somewhere in his chest to smear on his face and turned away from Leonhart’s still body. He actually got a full three paces away before his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Spinning around on the toes on his boots, Seifer Almasy leaned down and hauled Squall Leonhart up off the dusty earth. He threw one of Leonhart’s arms over his shoulder and began walking forward again, dragging his burden with him this time.

“Come on, dick face,” he muttered, more to hear his own voice echoing through the peculiar silence of Time Compression than because he thought Leonhart was listening. “Fuck, you’re heavy.” For some reason, he’d expected Leonhart to be as light as he was lean. He looked like he had fucking bird bones, after all. Turned out those bird bones were actually solidly compact muscles. But Seifer was strong, and he didn’t let the Guardian Forces eat his memories for nothing. So he walked and walked and dragged the pain in his ass with him. After a while he began to worry at how cold Leonhart was. But he pushed that worry aside because he was _not_ going to be concerned.

He wasn’t worried.

He was not.

***

Seifer Almasy was no Sorceress or witch. He wasn’t particularly gifted with magic. He had no idea how they got home. He just knew that one minute he was walking, felt on the verge of collapse himself, and the next moment he blinked and Leonhart’s friends were pulling him from Seifer’s back, lying his limp body on the ground, casting Curaga on him with such fierce intensity that Seifer thought, for a moment, that they were actually going to cause more damage than they were repairing in their efforts. Then, finally, Quistis pulled out a Phoenix Down and practically assaulted Leonhart with it.

Then Leonhart coughed and gasped and breathed. Rinoa was crying, pressing her face into Leonhart’s chest. Quistis covered her mouth in relief with one hand. Selfie and Irvine embraced each other. Zell slumped in relief.

Seifer took a step back from them, pressing his lips together. Then he took another step back. They were ignoring him. He ought to leave while their attention was elsewhere, before they could decide to be petty and ignore what he’d just done for them, saving their leader like that at risk to his own personhood, and arrest him or something stupid.

But he didn’t. He was a moron. Without meeting their eyes, he watched Leonhart as he gazed up at the sky, dazed, while Rinoa clung to him and sobbed. How long had Seifer dragged a dead body around? He tried not to think about it too much. Turning away finally, he got a full three yards away, this time, before a sharp voice cut through his musings.

“Seifer.” Quistis.

Seifer glanced over his shoulder at her, sneering so she wouldn’t notice the way his step had hitched when she’d called his name. Quistis watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Where did you find him?” she asked.

Seifer shrugged one shoulder. “Nowhere.” It wasn’t a lie, but he was pleased by how obnoxiously unhelpful his answer sounded.

Quistis pushed a frustrated puff of air through her nose and watched him for another short moment before turning her attention back to the others. Patting Rinoa on the back, she gently pried the other girl off of Leonhart, whispering something that must have been comforting in her ear. Zell scooped Leonhart into his arms, carrying him toward their transport like a fucking bride. Seifer pretended that the disgusted look on his face was because of their display, not because he was jealous. Because he wasn’t. That would be stupid.

Quistis climbed off her knees, where she had knelt on the ground at Leonhart’s side, and straightened up to her full height. She watched Zell carry Leonhart to safety, then walked calmly to Seifer’s side. For a moment, she said nothing, and he wound up for some defensive retort—or maybe to actually fight. But all she said was, “We’re going to take him back to Garden. For medical attention. Looks like he was dead for a while this time.”

Seifer glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him, but instead still gazing after Leonhart. What did she want him to say?

“Whatever,” felt appropriate.

***

Rinoa was loud enough that Seifer could hear her talking from down the hall. “Why isn’t he getting better? Why won’t he talk to me? Why won’t he talk to _anyone_?”

He didn’t hear what the doctor told her in reply. He’d snuck into Garden to save them all a lot of grief, and already he was questioning the wisdom of coming at all. It was starting to feel like a bad idea. He decided to hang back, keep out of sight, until the infirmary emptied. It was surprisingly easy. With Leonhart apparently still out of commission, Seifer found security at Garden was offensively lax. So he bided his time; ate a hotdog; and as it grew later, listened for when everyone left the infirmary for the night. Then, when the time was right, he sneaked into the med bay, tense and ready for whatever he found there.

Leonhart sat on the floor, he found, his back pressed against the frame of the hospital bed. His gaze was distant and there was a red wound on the back of his hand where he must have torn away an IV. The blood looked to have clotted already, so Seifer told himself not to worry too much about that. He was more concerned with the way Leonhart’s breath was coming out in little puffs of cold air, and by the white stuff on his hands that looked suspiciously like frost.

Dropping down to one knee, Seifer took one of Leonhart’s hands and pulled it closer to get a better look. If Squall noticed what Seifer was doing, he didn’t even blink; just kept breathing out that weird, frigid fog and staring into the distance of the floor.

“What the fuck did you do?” Seifer muttered, narrowing his eyes at the frost dusted over Squall’s fingertips.

Squall’s eyes flicked to him, then, his gaze boring uncomfortably into Seifer. He didn’t say anything, but somehow the message was clear. Seifer felt like he just _knew_. Shiva. Of course. Fucking Time Compression fucked everything up.

“You know,” he remarked, releasing Squall’s hand. It fell limply to the floor. “I didn’t think the people who called you an ice princess meant it literally.”

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Squall’s lips curved up at that remark. Seifer allowed himself a small grin, despite himself. It wasn’t a funny situation. Except it kind of was. Leonhart had asked for this. They’d all asked for similar things. It was what they got for weaponizing gods.

“Okay,” Seifer said, rubbing his hands together and sitting back to put some space between them. He had to think. “Okay, it’s fine. So she’s a little more a part of you than she was before. No big deal. You can handle.” He reached out and grasped Squall’s chin, gently turning his face to force Squall to meet his gaze. “I know you’re too stubborn to get lost in there.”

Squall said nothing, but he let out a slow, deliberate breath that brushed against Seifer’s cheek like a caress. Seifer shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to be stupid. But he sat on the floor with Squall all night. He didn’t even notice the light coming in through the window until he heard someone’s voice exclaim, “Aw, man, what the hell?”

Maybe Seifer was the one who had to worry about getting lost.

He turned to Zell and frowned, shaking his head. “Your fearless leader is sick.”

“Duh.” Zell shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. “We noticed that.”

“He’s absorbed his ice goddess,” Seifer continued as though Zell weren’t being a brat. Patience. Patience was key. Patience had saved Leonhart before—sort of—and it was how Seifer was going to save him the rest of the way. He owed him that much for defeating Ultimecia. “I guess. Or something. I’m guessing there’s no chance of separating them into two entities again, but you need to focus on getting Leonhart back in full control of his body.” He glanced at Squall, considering him thoughtfully. “Could be kind of cool to have real powers, under the right circumstances.”

Zell stared at him, dumbfounded, and didn’t even try to stop Seifer as he climbed off the ground and walked out the infirmary door without a word. Seifer wondered if Zell would pass along his message, and if they’d figure out how to get Leonhart back on his feet. Seifer shouldn’t have cared. But he wondered anyway. Maybe wandering the ends of the unknown reaches of time and space together formed some kind of bond. That was probably why he cared. It wasn’t like he’d ever liked Squall before.

Not really, anyway.

Though he hadn’t really hated him either.

***

When Seifer found Squall in his office, at the top of Garden, it occurred to him that even after some recovery, Leonhart was not quite human and never would be again. He appeared to be mostly in control of his own faculties, but it was difficult to pretend that everything was the same when Seifer cleared his throat and Leonhart turned to him with a slight tilt of his head. There was no animosity in his ice-chip eyes—they’d never been that cold before, nor that pale—but there wasn’t anything else in them either. Seifer resisted the urge to shift from one foot to the other, resisted the urge to act like an idiot, because he felt as though Squall would judge him harshly if he did. Not that it mattered. Not that he cared. But he kind of cared a lot, he found.

“You’re out of the hospital,” he observed, keeping his tone light and flippant.

Squall nodded.

“That’s good.” Seifer chose to ignore the suspicious, narrowed eyes Squall was directing at him. It was difficult to tell whether that was an effect of Shiva or not, because Squall had always kind of looked at him that way. At least he had for a good while. “Because, you know, the whole comatose thing was kind of creepy. I think it was starting to freak out those pals of yours. You know, especially your—”

“Shut up.” It was almost a relief when Squall interrupted him—both because he hadn’t heard Squall actually say anything since the whole Sorceress incident, and also because that gave Seifer an excuse to just stop talking.

“Ah, he _can_ talk!” Seifer grinned, but it was mostly bravado. Squall did not smile back.

Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and Seifer swore the temperature in the office dropped ten degrees.

“What are you doing here, Seifer?” Leonhart asked, all Commander and no funny business.

Seifer shrugged, trying to look more confident than he frankly felt. It would have been better if he’d had a firmer understanding of what, exactly, Leonhart was now; just how much humanity Shiva had left in him when she’d frozen the rest of him to death while, Seifer assumed, trying to save her host from actual death at the end of everything. He sauntered around the office, looking at various knickknacks that Headmaster Cid had left behind and Squall had never taken the time to get rid of, stalling for time as he tried to come up with a decent explanation. Why _was_ he there? Why was he sneaking around, intentionally confronting this man who commanded gods and devils, who was half-god himself now, who had every reason to think that Seifer was the villain of their story.

This man who could probably throw Seifer in prison, or kill him as easily as he could breathe on him now.

“I guess I just wanted to see for myself that the rumors were true,” he decided finally. “That you were back up to your old tricks. I heard you were recovering pretty well and you were pretty messed up when we came out of it all, so I just wanted—” To know you were okay, he didn’t finish.

For a moment, Squall was so still that Seifer could only assume disaster was going to come flying at him. A bullet or blade or barrage of dagger-sharp ice. Something. Anything. Even hateful words would have been easier to formulate a response for than the eerie silence Squall offered him. But Squall did not attack him, or say anything cruel, or even ask Seifer to leave. He only watched him in silence, thoughtful and unblinking.

“Are you going to arrest me now?” Seifer asked, which was probably stupid.

“No,” Squall decided after a moment’s pause, which was definitely surprising.

“No?” Seifer blinked, sure that he’d heard wrong.

Squall shrugged and turned away, his gaze and attention finding their way to a stack of papers on his desk. Without explanation, he sat down and pulled the first document in front of him, beginning to read. Seifer stared, mouth agape. He quickly clenched it shut again, irritated and pleased because this time he was completely sure that the barely-noticeable set of Squall’s mouth was a smile.

***

As a child, Seifer had not liked to share his playthings with anyone. As an adult, he found he still did not. It was annoying to have to share Squall with his friends and family and Rinoa and all of fucking Garden. It was annoying to watch other people fret over Leonhart, because sometimes Squall or Shiva one seemed to forget that Squall’s body was still pretty damn human and it still needed things like sleep and food. Seifer could have taken care of him all alone, in that regard; he didn’t need other people interfering.

And he certainly didn’t like it when Squall would work nineteen hour days, and prove that even before he’d shared his body and soul with a Guardian Force, he’d always thought of himself as a SeeD first and a person last.

“Rinoa was looking for you earlier,” Seifer remarked, sprawled across Squall’s bed—no, their bed—when the door opened and Squall finally came in, shrugging off his jacket with a soft sigh. “I told her you were working. Again. I think it’s starting to hurt her feelings.”

For a moment, Squall only watched him. He hadn’t been great at empathy before—or hadn’t wanted to be. Despite the fact that alienating Rinoa would mean one less person to share Squall with, Seifer was relieved when Squall considered him, then decided, “I’ll talk to her.”

It was a relief because that meant that Shiva hadn’t turned him into a total sociopath. Seifer was certain that was in his best interests too.

“Good.” He nodded and scooted over on the bed to let Squall crawl in beside him. “How are you feeling today?”

Squall shrugged. The obvious answer was cold, but he probably only felt cold to Seifer. Squall didn’t seem to have any concept of low temperatures anymore. In fact, he twisted his head and offered Seifer a bland look, remarking, “I should be asking you that. You’re a furnace.”

“Uh, sorry.” Seifer shook his head and pressed a kiss to Squall’s lips. “Says the literal human ice cube.”

Squall let out a puff of clean winter air that passed for a laugh. “I’m fine.” He tolerated Seifer pulling him close, so that his head rested against Seifer’s chest.

“Are you really?” Seifer pressed a peck to Squall’s forehead this time. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

Squall shrugged, any amusement draining visibly from his face. Perhaps Seifer shouldn’t have said anything after all.

“Shiva can’t stop the dreams,” he said, and they both knew what dreams he meant without any explanation. Seifer dreamed of the nowhere place, too. He dreamed of Squall’s death too. He was sure his dreams of the lengths Shiva had gone to, to preserve Squall Leonhart, were more dramatized than Squall’s were, but he still sympathized on principle.

He let out a slow sigh and let his fingers find Squall’s soft hair.

“Probably better that she can’t.”

Squall shrugged again. _Whatever_ , Seifer almost swore he heard, though Squall said nothing. He grinned at the thought, though it faded quickly when Squall turned his face into Seifer’s neck and whispered, mostly to himself, in all likelihood, “Better for who?”


End file.
